Twisted In Your Drinks
by SilkenBone922
Summary: Derek/Addison-they stumble through the streets and really- he’s forgotten where they’re going because neither of their places is in sight. unbeta’d. all mistakes are my own. They're at uni- pre romance


**twisted in your drinks **

**grey's anatomy**, derek/addison, au-ish pre-series, pg, 1300 words, _they stumble through the streets and really- he's forgotten where they're going because neither of their places is in sight_. unbeta'd. all mistakes are my own. notes: for jacobella41- i was supposed to right dan/blair at uni, but somehow these two appeared instead?

She moves all wrong.

She's never claimed to be a dancer but from the way she balances her ankles on those four inch heels, he'd expected, he thinks- a little more _grace_. It's sort of delightful to see her hips swaying awkwardly, drink still in one hand and she hasn't taken a sip so it's still filled to the brim. She pushes back her hair with one hand and he smiles (it looks less red in the light down here) and she's awkward- _awkward_, with her long legs and perfect knees and he sort of wants to kiss her.

Sort of.

"You are one sad sap."

Truer words never spoken perhaps, Mark slaps a hand on his shoulder, follows the line of his eyes and Derek flinches- _flinches_.

Flinches and then he grins, lightly, clinks glasses with his friend.

They move back to the bar, take stools but Derek can only turn slightly away. His chin is still angled toward her, foot pointing out the path.

Mark notices- he's sharper when there's liquor flowing up to his brain.

"Is there a _reason_ you refuse to ask her out?"

His mouth twists and he's only half feigning ignorance, because even Mark isn't that stupid. The man taps his fingers against the smooth wood of the bar, waiting.

He settles for a half truth. "I think the term is- out of my league?"

Mark throws his head back and laughs and Derek winces, again. Truthfully- he doesn't know why, but his palms grow cold when she's around and he just can't bring himself to say anything. It's pathetic of course. He smoothes back his hair with one hand, downs his drink and his eyes are still fixed on the shadows under hers.

He wants to wipe them away, brush the tips of his fingers against her cheeks but there are approximately eighty sweaty bodies, swaying madly between him and the object of his affection and the catch in his throat is still there. So his fingers curl around the glass instead and tries for a moment, to close his eyes.

It isn't of much use.

She's still there.

The clock speaks of morning hours. His best friend has a blonde on his arm and he's heading, very tipsily toward the door.

Addison is quiet. She's sitting down now- opposite him, actually.

They "bumped into each other" about an hour ago. She was walking to the ladies room, her shoes in her hands and he was on his way out. She'd smiled.

She'd smiled and she was drunk and she said "hey". Her wrist flicked to one side, gesturing to a booth and she'd _smiled_ so he sat back down.

He doesn't think he'd spend an hour in the quiet with anyone but her. The barman lowers the lights, Addison stares into her drink and Derek leans back into his seat, laying an arm along the back of the bar.

"Derek?"

He nods for her to go on but she isn't looking at him. "Yes?" he prods gently but she still isn't listening. His eyes drop to her hands folded on the table between them, the thin blue veins on the inside of her rest as it curves away from him. He stares at the pattern they weave like it's the answer to all his problems, some sort of maze with a prize at the end of it.

"Can you walk me home?" she asks, finally and his gaze snaps back upwards. Her head is tipped to one side, red hair pooling on the table top.

She still won't look at him.

"Allright."

Soft, he says it so soft but her skin flushes and she's folding out of her seat so she must have heard him. She pulls on her shoes, heels spilling out at the back. She's almost as tall as him in these, probably without them, too.

He thinks it's incredibly sexy for some inexplicable reason, because he wouldn't have to bend to kiss her. They stand shoulder to shoulder, walking out the door. She takes a deep breath as she steps into the night and it sounds like relief.

He smiles, a sudden turn of the lips and even in her inebriated state, Addison notes it, turning towards him slightly.

"I don't like this much," she says, quietly, "Partying and all.."

He smiles wider when she trails off, mouth stretching as she squints at him.

"You're laughing at me," she complains and she sounds mortified not angry which just one of the many signs that she's drunk, really. However well she may hold it.

"I'm not," he assures, but it's weak and her ankle bends against the side walk bringing her tall, tall form a little closer to the asphalt. He reaches for her, wraps a hand around her arm and she's leaning against him now.

Her head is tucked into the crook of his neck and this must be awkward for her, especially since they're still walking but he can smell roses and mint in her hair. He's not complaining.

They stumble through the streets and really- he's forgotten where they're going because neither of their places is in sight.

"We're lost." She stops, tugging on his arm.

"No"- he's trying here, head swinging around- "No, we are not."

"Yes." Even drunk Addison is more decided them. "Yes, we are."

She sits herself down on the stairs of some stranger's house and begins to remove her shoes.

"This is your fault," she states, pointing a shoe at him, " Therefore, I insist that you carry me to whichever destination you wish me to reach."

There isn't a cab in sight. New York is mocking him.

Addison is looking at him. Expectantly.

It's his turn to sigh but his arms slip around her more easily than they ought to. Much more easily and he hoists her up. For about ten seconds, it's golden.

He's swept her off her feet.

They fall hard, _fast_ and three seconds- three seconds and they're a tangle of limbs on the ground, her hair spread out over his jacket and is she laughing?

She is. His back hurts, his knee is sore but she's laughing and she manages to look perfectly put together when she brushes herself off.

Sober, too. Her place is about ten minutes from here and she says she can make it on her own but gallantry, of course. It's _Derek_.

"Thank you," she whispered, when her doorsteps looms and he doesn't really want her to go yet.

His hand isn't in his pocket anymore. He brushes his fingers against the back of her hand and she leans into him. Their mouths meet somewhere in the middle and it's as fast as falling.

His arms slide swiftly up her sides, hooked through her own and her palms are pressed to his back. He can feel her, all of her through the wool of their coats and she feels warm and soft and still sharp, like the taste of fresh lime in the corners of her mouth.

He doesn't count the minutes till they break away but maybe she pulls back first, breath hot against his lips.

"Goodnight." She grins, widely and he finds the corners of his mouth turn up to match hers.

The key sticks and she blushes, which is new. The night feels new, like the hours past were yesterdays and he cannot remember when this one started.

"Good night, Addison."

He says the words to her back and her closed door. Home doesn't feel far. He thinks it might be right at her doorstep.


End file.
